‘Where are your manners, Lucia?’ Marco asked sharply.
She flashed a saccharine smile at Jenny. ‘Pretty please. As a gift to Nonno.’
‘I’ll do my best,’ Jenny hastily agreed, grateful for the distraction from Dante and his reaction to the portrait she’d done. Besides, if she ‘romanticised’ Lucia, he would think that was her style, nothing personal to him.
She sat herself at the easel again, picked up a stick of charcoal and began drawing, emptying her mind of the spite and jealousy that soured Lucia’s character, trying to see her as a lost child who was still occupying a frighteningly empty world, wanting the love she had missed.
Dante stretched out on another sun-lounge, remaining quiet as Lucia babbled on to her grandfather, telling him of the call she’d taken from her mother this morning. Apparently Sophia was waiting for her brother, Roberto, to join her in Paris before both flew down to Capri for the weekend to visit their father and meet Bella. Jenny hoped her pseudo aunt and uncle were not going to put her through any hostile hoops while they were here.
She listened to Lucia’s rambling on about her family, knowing that meeting the rest of the Rossinis was inevitable. It was only natural they would want to spend time with Marco before he died. Bella might not be a welcome addition to the scene at this late juncture, but they would have to accept her presence.
It would be interesting to see how they responded to Dante, being the person designated to take over from Marco. Did they resent him as Lucia did, or were they content for him to carry the responsibility of the family fortunes?
Not that it was any of her business. She had to remain apart from all family politics. This wasn’t her life. It was simply time out of time.
‘I’m done,’ she told Lucia, silently vowing not to let this ‘cousin’ upset her again. Since the portrait had been requested for Marco, she took it off the easel and handed it to him. ‘Your gift,’ she said with a smile.
‘Thank you,’ he murmured, staring at her work as his two real grandchildren moved to satisfy their curiosity about it.
Again Dante said nothing.
Lucia rushed into a string of protests. ‘This isn’t what you did for Dante. The eyes are too dark and intense. They should be bright and happy. You’ve made me look edgy instead of romantic. I don’t like it.’
Jenny shrugged off the criticism. ‘I’m sorry it doesn’t meet your expectations. I’ll try again another day if you want me to.’
‘I wanted Nonno to have it today.’
‘No, Lucia,’ Marco said firmly, shooting her a quelling look. ‘I’m satisfied with this one and Bella has indulged us enough. It’s ungracious of you to demand more.’
‘But, Nonno…’
‘Enough!’ he repeated sharply. ‘I want you and Dante to leave me with Bella now. I’m tired and I’d like a few minutes alone with her before Theresa wheels me off to bed.’
‘Then I’ll go back to the pool. You can join me there later, Bella,’ Lucia tossed at her with a show of cousinly grace as she left them.
Dante moved to pack up the easel. ‘I’ll take this back to your suite, Bella,’ he said, his eyes stabbing a command for her to join him there when his grandfather was finished with her.
‘Theresa, go and look at the sea,’ Marco instructed, waving towards the cliff wall, obviously wanting his caregiver out of earshot, as well.
Tension streaked along Jenny’s nerves as she waited for the private tête-à-tête Marco was intent upon. This would be another test she had to pass, completely on her own this time. Fatigue was drawn on the old man’s face but it hadn’t dulled the sharp intelligence in the eyes he turned to her.
‘You are a very talented artist, Bella. No question about that,’ he said with authority.
‘Thank you.’ She smiled at the compliment, hiding her angst over what questions he did have in his mind.
‘Sensitive to your subjects,’ was his next comment.
The probe in his eyes made Jenny squirm inside. She was too frightened to say anything in case she revealed even more than she had done already with her unwitting interpretation of Dante.
Marco still held both portraits in his hands and he spread them apart, studying them again before quietly stating. ‘These speak to me. I don’t know if you meant them to…’ Again the sharp probe, striking at her heart, making it flutter with fear. ‘…and perhaps they tell me more about you than they do about Dante and Lucia.’
‘No, no…’ She shook her head, her mind frantically searching for a defence of what she’d drawn. ‘You asked me for a portrait of Dante, and what I do know about him, with absolute certainty, is that he loves you very much. I tried to show it.’
He nodded, but she wasn’t sure he completely accepted her explanation.
‘Love…yes,’ he murmured. ‘Thank you, my dear. It’s good to be reminded.’
Relief coursed through her. He wasn’t going to attach it to anything personal in her. His gaze moved to the other portrait.
‘You’ve captured something quite different in Lucia.’
‘I didn’t mean to suggest she doesn’t love you,’ Jenny said quickly, hoping she hadn’t hurt the old man.
He shook his head, a wry twist on his mouth. ‘I doubt Lucia is capable of loving anyone. She thinks of herself too much.’
‘Is that her fault?’ The words were out before Jenny could think better of the criticism they implied. She immediately tried to mitigate them. ‘From what Lucia told me last night, she’s had a difficult life, having to change schools and go wherever her mother wanted to go. She never had the kind of relationship Dante had with you. I think she’s a very unhappy person.’
‘Yes.’ He heaved a deep sigh. ‘It is unfortunate. If my Isabella had still been alive to guide Sophia into being a better mother…more consistent in her caring for Lucia…’ He grimaced. ‘And Sophia’s husbands have been worthless as fathers. Bad choices.’
His eyes sought her understanding. ‘I have done all I could for Lucia, offered her every opportunity to make her life count for something other than the wealth attached to her name. She chooses to be a dilettante, and while she sticks to that course, she will not attain any inner happiness. I can’t make her change. And be warned, my dear, she will tear your sympathetic heart to shreds, seeing it as a weakness to be exploited.’